Last night I went out in my six to a potluck at a friends – I went alone, I knew no-one. In the past, I would have worried about what to wear, the message I was sending. I have, for the longest time, wanted to be a blank canvas. After attempting to hide as much of myself under various suits of armor, I realised that I will never achieve this. No matter what, I will always say something. I have read about people who wear the same thing every day – but it still says something. About a man who picks five random second hand t-shirts, he could be right winger, pro-choice, atheist depending on what he pulls out of the sales bin. But this still says something if you see a person often. I can’t escape this. Wearing six, they say something. All the time, we deliver messages, messages, messages, whether we want to or not.
So again came the choice: what message to send? Do I wear jewellery? (Yep). Do I bother with eyeliner? (I did). Was I comfortable enough with strangers to wear the cross I wear at home but take off for work? (I wasn’t…but I did). Did I feel out of place not dressed up in the company of gorgeous, glamorous women with much make up and beautiful dresses? Surprisingly enough, not at all.
Wearing my ‘usual’, black and plain, seemed to make everything else more of a message to my eyes…but I sucked it up. And everything was fine.